Mea Culpa
by Kristen999
Summary: Rodney and Ronon are captured by another galactic mad man. Sheppard and Teyla try not to self-destruct while attempting to find them. A little dark.


Title: Mea Culpa

Author: Kristen999

Rating: T

Spoilers: Season 4 Before "Missing"

Warnings: Violence/Slight Language

Summary: Rodney and Ronon are captured by another galactic mad man. Sheppard and Teyla try not to self-destruct while attempting to find them. A little dark.

Notes: Written for the sgagenficathon. Prompt: Illegal

Thank you to everybetty and wildcat88 for the beta.

* * *

Teyla wakes up to the sounds of the infirmary: voices, machines, and the hum of activity. She rubs at her temples to ease a splitting headache while searching the other beds. The one directly in front of her hides the form of the colonel; that wild tuft of black hair eases some of her fear. Sheppard had taken two stunner blasts to the chest trying to cover them. Thankfully, Sergeant Martinez had grabbed him by the tac vest and dragged him through the wormhole. Teyla had lost sight of Ronon and Rodney before getting stunned herself.

There's no sign of the rest of her teammates among the wounded.

Major Lorne comes from out of nowhere, accompanied by a nurse, a thousand questions on his lips.

"It was an ambush. We do not know who attacked us," she tells him.

Six hours later Teyla sits in a conference room, discussing a return trip to the planet. Sheppard grips his pen way too tightly; it's the only sign of the tension in his body. He doesn't take a single note.

Twelve hours later they return from MXP-5771 with more questions than they had before. There'd been no strange energy signatures to follow or native people to question. All trace of their attackers has been covered up and worst of all, Ronon and Rodney have vanished.

"I'm going to take a jumper back and do another scan," Sheppard informs everyone.

That should be a request in front of a superior officer, however Colonel Carter agrees as if it is one. She looks to her, and Teyla nods. "I'll go with you, John."

Colonel Sheppard hasn't slept in the past twenty-four hours, the pain lines around his eyes indicative of a horrible migraine. Teyla takes aspirin for her own headache, offering him some that he dry swallows. Three hours later they return empty-handed after scanning a planet that's swallowed their friends whole.

They walk into Zelenka's lab; the physicist rubs his blood-shot eyes. "It's impossible to know where they could have been transported to. I've downloaded the last fifty gate addresses, but it could be any of them."

"That's if whoever took them didn't dial the gate to another site."

"Do you think that is what happened?" Teyla asks.

"It was expertly planned. These people had stunners in addition to projectile weapons. They hid their tracks and disappeared. Professionals would jump from gate to gate," Sheppard explains in a dry, lifeless tone.

"What do we do now?" Zelenka inquires.

Sheppard's mouth is a thin line, his hand fidgety over his gun. "We kick over every rock until we find them."

That idea is scrapped immediately when one of the Athosians contacts them about an audio device with a message for Atlantis is left outside their gate.

* * *

There is no light in their cell, but Ronon can tell the passage of time without it. His head is heavy; lifting it makes the room spin into a blur. The skin around his wrists is rubbed raw from the chains and the ones around his ankles force him to sit on the floor. They clank loudly when he wrestles with them, testing the strength behind each link.

"Will you stop that? I already have a headache," McKay snaps.

His friend is hungry, bloodied and scared. Even after three years in the Pegasus galaxy, McKay is not cut out for this. Ronon rolls abused shoulder muscles, stiff from having his hands shackled above his head. Their prison is much like the Atlantis brig - clean, spare and controlled by a force field.

"You got a plan?" Ronon asks.

"Yes, not dying."

"Can you get past the barrier?"

McKay whips his head around. "Maybe if I could move!"

The guards arrive in teams of four or five, always expecting trouble. Their stunning rods incapacitate quickly; they both have mild burns to show for it. Ronon needs a weapon, anything to prove their captors right about the need for numbers.

They hear the doors slide open, the heavy clomping of boots. Ronon smells Balish before the barrier is dropped; his guards surround him with rods poised and ready. The man always smells of strong, medicinal soap with tobacco on his breath.

McKay makes low, worried sounds deep in his throat, drawing the attention of their tormentor. "Doctor, have you changed your mind yet?"

"He hasn't. You'll get nothing from us," Ronon snarls.

"Distracting me won't gain you anything, Mr. Dex. I'll get to you later."

The interrogator takes out his favorite toy, a knife made entirely of steel, even the handle. Balish rubs the blade fondly over his bald head, down the side of his cheek. Their keeper taps the tip against clean, even teeth; his other hand smoothes down a single wrinkle in the crisp gray shirt of a very Genii-like uniform.

"Tell me what I want to know."

McKay's answer is uncompromising. "No."

Balish flicks the blade like a deadly dart across the cell.

"Oh, God!" the physicist panics.

The knife strikes the wall only an inch above McKay's head. Balish enjoys towering over his prisoners, to drive fear into others from a position of power. "It's a simple question."

"And I've got the same answer."

Ronon bristles as Balish deftly pulls out the knife, petting McKay's head while running the metal under the physicist's earlobe. "I studied anatomy when I was a boy; my father was the local mortician. The human body is amazing; so fragile yet able to endure so much damage before it succumbs to death."

McKay huddles down as far as the chains will allow him. Balish traces the pointed edge of the blade along the outlines of the physicist's forehead, flicking his wrist to cut away a tuft of hair. McKay's face ashens, his voice lost within his strangled vocal cords.

"You'll scream for your life when I'm done with you," Ronon promises.

Balish grins. "Bring him."

The guards descend and Ronon shouts, yanking on his chains until his wrists pop. The soldiers drag McKay away. Balish stays behind, chuckling. "You'll get your chance soon enough, Mr. Dex."

* * *

The message is delivered via New Athos, demanding a face-to-face. Sheppard walks out of the gate with an eight person strike force - nothing like bringing friendly persuasion. The tree line on either side of them is lush and thick, ideal for an ambush.

He nods at Sergeants Tanski and Graham, points to his eyes and to either side of the brush. Both Marines nod, covering the rows of timber with their P-90s. It's a perfect day, at the perfect planet for a little hostage negotiation

"They might be watching us," Teyla says in a hushed voice.

The instructions have no coordinates. "We didn't get much intel about the layout from the MALP. If they didn't plan on meeting us at the 'gate then they had other ideas."

"To draw us in," she replied, eyes razor sharp.

Sheppard pulls out the life signs detector, scowling at the readings. "I'm not picking up McKay's sub-cu transmitter."

"It could be disabled," Teyla suggests.

"Or he's not here. I think something's blocking our instruments."

A canopy of green, tan, and orange leaves masks the sky above a fairytale forest, the mysterious hideout off in the distance. The soft grass mutes the sound of their boots, the soil moist from a recent rain.

The warehouse looms ahead without a welcome wagon in sight. "Let's get as close as we can," Sheppard orders, then turns to Tanski. "I want you to take three men to split off and go around back."

The team creeps closer, seeking cover from the nearby woods, using the shadows for stealth. There's no cover in front of the warehouse; any approach exposes them all in the open. Sheppard squints into his binoculars. "No one on the perimeter," he says.

Then _click_, and everything goes to Hell.

"Freeze! Nobody move!"

Sheppard's eyes flick at each of their positions, measuring the distance between each member, landing on the soldier furthest away from the group. Sergeant Graham's face drains of color as he stares at his boot.

Teyla is deathly still at Sheppard's right, eyes scouring the ground. "Booby trap," she whispers knowingly.

"Yeah," he says, not daring to move.

Sergeant Graham is a statue; he may be twenty-nine, but he's a pro. "Don't worry, sir. I can stand here all-"

The young Marine is blown to bits before Sheppard's eyes and he screams out, "No!"

Sergeant Tanski orders his men to stand their ground; everyone holds their collective breaths. Nothing else explodes, and Sheppard slaps his comm. "Lorne! Scan for energy signatures, anything to tell me how many mines are out here!"

"_Already on it, Colonel!"_

Teyla is equal parts rage and liquid calm. "Why did it go off? He did not move."

"Could've triggered a timer...if the pressure didn't let up, it went off anyways... Sonuvabitch!"

The warehouse looms ahead, uncovered and they are sitting ducks for an attack.

"Lorne!"

"_Scans shows the entire path leading to the building is layered with mines."_

"Any of my team near 'em?"

_No! ...Sergeant Graham was the closest. You just entered the booby-trapped area."_

"Everyone begin backing away, now!" Sheppard orders.

They retreat, two meters, five, ten, twenty.

"Okay, Lorne. Fire at the mine field." He turns to his team. "Everyone take cover."

His ace in the hole is Lorne in a cloaked jumper; the craft blasts the ground, detonating the hazards that lay in wait. Two minutes later, the ground simmers with smoke, the body of their Marine burned to cinders.

They split up, surround an empty warehouse, and an hour later, leave with nothing. There are no clues to their missing teammates' whereabouts and they return home with a body bag filled with ash.

Sheppard had underestimated the tenacity and ruthlessness of the enemy; he wouldn't do it the next time—if there is one.

* * *

Rodney shivers, his t-shirt and BDUs feel too thin and worn. His stomach is a gaping chasm of hunger; it growls constantly and his head aches from lack of nourishment. The dizziness could also be the result of having his brains bounced against the back of his skull too many times.

He sucks at his fingertips, relishing the taste from the meager hunk of bread and dried-out alien rice. Ronon's company would be nice right now, but they'd dragged him out a while ago. Rodney counts the squares in the tiles of the floor to figure out how many total are in the room to pass the time.

His mind fills with escape-plan scenarios adding to the conversations he's already had with Ronon. He's even come up with codes words they can use when speaking, just in case they're being monitored.

The noise outside the door alerts him that the thug squad has arrived and they drag Ronon's limp body between them. They drop the Satedan to the floor, secure his wrists and ankles, and back away to encircle their master.

"You could stop all this, you know. Just answer the question," Balish explains. He has the evil guy act down pat, never bothered by the cruel things he does. He's bored by their resistance, picks a piece of lint from his shoulder. "What will it be?"

Rodney juts his chin out.

"I have all the time in the world," the brute says.

"How very Dr. Evil of you. I mean, really, do you all read from the same villain handbook?"

Balish crosses the room in a few strides and stomps hard on Rodney's foot. The pain rips a strangled curse from his lips.

"You're a criminal here; don't forget that!" Balish snarls before leaving.

Rodney can't rub his boot to make the pain go away. So he thinks about string theory and the quantum physics of dwarf stars until Ronon decides to wake up some time later. "Um...you alright?"

Blood drips from a split lip and Ronon's left eye is swollen shut. "I'm fine."

"Is that code for you're not?"

Ronon glares.

"You were unconscious."

"They stunned me afterward."

"Oh, that makes it all better." Silence settles between them and he tries not to think of the odds against getting out of here.

"Did you...um, get any food?"

"No." Ronon looks over. "You?"

"The usual. Bread and a lumpy brown rice substance. I tried to hide some, but the guards found it."

Ronon looks surprised that he'd tried to save him some which should tick him off. "It's okay. You need to eat."

"They ask you anything tactical?" Rodney asks.

"No, just the address to contact Atlantis."

Rodney ponders at the absurdity of such stupidity. "That's moronic. Why don't they ask us for more information? Why not how to break down our defenses or about our security?"

"Don't know."

Rodney ignores stomach cramps and the muscles that scream from being stretched beyond their means. This whole situation is puzzling; the pieces don't add up. They're missing something vital and he's going to figure out what.

* * *

Sheppard survives on caffeine fumes alone; there was no sleeping after the ambush and the next morning brings another message and a box this time. After scans and every safety precaution, he opens the package to find a thick dreadlock and a few tufts of wispy hair. He fingers the strands before barricading the doors to his emotions.

_They're still alive_, a voice whispers in his head.

"The DNA results are positive. They belong to Dr. McKay and Ronon," Keller tells them.

The message includes another planet, another meeting point and lacks details or instructions.

"I'm not sending you into what is likely a trap," Carter informs him.

"And I won't wait for toes or fingers next," Sheppard replies.

Teyla touches his arm but he pulls away. There's no room for comfort, not when he knows his friends are still out there because of his mistake. This enemy isn't a group of local yokels with fire and sticks. It takes cunning and ruthlessness to play this game.

They take triple the teams and jumpers and fly through the gate. The first thing he does is scan the area for every anomaly under the sun.

"There's interference...the sensors can't lock in on anything," he tells Teyla.

"How shall we proceed?"

Sheppard glances at her, marvels at her constant ability to be so poised under pressure. She still trusts him implicitly and he won't let her or his team down again. "We'll use gas."

They uncloak and fire holes in the far ends of the ceiling to prevent injuring their teammates if they are there. He expertly hovers the jumper above, the back hatch opens, and one of the Marines scales down a rappelling line to drop bombs the size of bowling balls through. Lorne repeats the same action, each gas surprise able to spread through twenty thousand cubic feet of space.

Sheppard flies to a landing area hundreds of meters away, allowing the air-borne toxin to saturate the target area.

"Gear up," he orders his people.

Teyla dons a mask as do the other eight Marines. He's about to land when the shuttle rocks unexpectedly, tossing them around inside.

"What the hell?"

"Colonel!"

Sheppard gets the jumper under control before peering at the view screen; the building is engulfed in flames.

"Is that from the gas?" Teyla exclaims.

God, he hopes not.

Once again, they scavenge the debris for clues to what happened. Zelenka is brought over with his geeks and they dredge through shrapnel and destruction. The smoke plumes into the air, creating a hazy cloud of pollution. He and Teyla help where they can, soot staining their faces, fumes tickling their lungs

"No one was ever here," Zelenka reports.

"What do they want?" Teyla demands, her eyes burning. "Why are they doing this?"

Sheppard doesn't even know who 'they' are. "It was another damn trap?"

"Perhaps the bombs were motion sensitive, rigged to detonate once the team was inside. The mines were designed to explode on a delay- this could be similar technology."

Twice they've been fed breadcrumbs, led down false trails of death. Two more days Rodney and Ronon have been left in the hands of those who use them as pawns in a deadly game.

* * *

On day three, Sheppard waits in the control room, scouring data logs for clues. They contact every ally, every trading partner. There's even a video conference with Ladon Radim who makes promises to help but offers no new leads.

After letting them all twist in the wind, on day four a third package arrives, addressed to Sheppard personally. After it's been subjected to every test in the lab, he opens it to find a pile of bloody fingernails. Training keeps the bile down; anger churns the acid. Between the violent desire to punch holes in the wall and guilt trying to turn his guts inside out, he actually maintains a composed exterior for the others.

He tears open the envelope and reads the newest summons.

"What does it say?" Teyla demands.

Sheppard can tell she wants to rip it out of his hands. Colonel Carter, Major Lorne and Zelenka wait impatiently for his response.

"They want to meet with me. _Alone_."

"No," Teyla hisses before anyone else can.

Sheppard meets her gaze just as her sentiment is matched by everyone else in the room. It's an echo of _no_ all the way around. They don't understand that this isn't their decision to make.

Colonel Carter touches his shoulder and he flinches. She pulls away her hand, but her face is pure command. "I'm sorry, John. We're not going to allow you to--"

"--I'll take the risk. Ronon and McKay's lives may depend on—"

"--This isn't your risk to take," Carter says.

"Yes, it is. They're demanding that I--"

She cuts him off again; Carter's tone becomes harder. "They? We don't even know who these people are, not to mention that we have no idea if Ronon and Rodney are even alive."

Sheppard shakes the box in disgust. "This means they are!"

"The um...fingernails could have been taken when they were first captured...or even...postmortem," Zelenka explains. "We still need to verify with DNA."

Sheppard thrusts it towards him. "Then test 'em."

* * *

Rodney's right hand throbs. The ends of each fingertip are a searing nub of fire, the bandages around them stained red. He wants painkillers, sedatives-- or hell, even ketamine. Anything to dull the shooting pain of raw, exposed nerves. Balish has allowed his injured hand to remain unshackled, a 'show of compassion' according to the bastard.

The fourth time he'd been brought to the torture room he'd known something was up. Balish had brought the instrument tray around after his limbs had been restrained in their usual fashion to the chair. He'd been asked about the 'gate address out of habit more than anything. Then a bucket had been brought for him to puke his guts into after the procedure.

He's asleep when Ronon's brought back from being relieved of the nails on his right hand; the guards secure _both_ the Satedan's wrists. There's no dinner this time, the only meal that's been allowed each day. Rodney craves the brown rice in the middle of the night and wakes up shaky and more disoriented.

"There are at least thirty guards here," Ronon says, not outwardly disturbed by the latest in torture techniques.

"How do you know that?"

"Memorized their faces, counted them in between our sessions."

Oh, of course. Ronon has to prove that he's still on the ball, not letting the mounting days distract him.

"Well, that's just great. We can just rush the guards and kill them with our bare hands, no problem."

"I'm sure there are more outside; this place isn't just a prison. It's a small base. I've seen civilians, probably scientists."

"How do you know? Were they wearing name tags?" Rodney understands this isn't helping, but he's grouchy from lack of food.

Ronon's either used to him or doesn't feel like expressing his normal annoyance. "You've seen the doors, some of the technology around here. There's got to be smart people around running it all."

Rodney's seen signs of ancient tech and what little he's seen outside their prison is much like a hospital or a lab. His thoughts stray to what they could steal or how to use any of this to their advantage.

"I'm sure Sheppard will find a way to--"

Rodney freezes. Ronon coils like a snake ready to strike at the sounds of the doors. Eight guards arrive this time; four cover them while the others march into the cell.

"Come, Balish will see you," one of the hulking security force announces. "We can stun you, or you can walk."

Rodney wonders if this is their chance. Ronon studies the situation and shakes his head. There are too many, and deep down inside Rodney knows he's not Sheppard or Teyla. He's not very helpful in a physical fight and curses himself at hindering the odds.

* * *

Everyone argues, voicing opinions on matters Sheppard's already gone over in his head. This enemy has advanced technology, including weapons, and unknown numbers. Lorne talks strategy, possible sting-type operations.

Teyla asks the question that really should be discussed. "Why you?"

"I don't know," Sheppard says. "And I don't care."

"Well, you should," Carter retorts. "If this is personal--."

"--More the reason I should go without any cloak and dagger. I can handle whatever happens."

"No, I'm not going to risk your life. We don't negotiate with terrorists. They've killed one man already and ambushed your team twice."

Sheppard faces Carter with images of mutilated fingers in his head. "We can't just stand by and do nothing."

Teyla is an anchor, pulling him away from the riptide. "Each mission was booby trapped to kill us... maybe just to kill you, John. You would never let Rodney or Ronon sacrifice themselves in this manner." She glances at the others. "Maybe we could go with Major Lorne's plan. Put some of our black operations people with you. Their job is to hide, but you would not be unprotected."

Wise words know how to calm raging waters. Carter weighs the options. "I don't like it, but if we can defend Colonel Sheppard, then I'll listen."

He's been stripped of his ability to wage this war, allowing rage to boil and cook.

Their best men are sent out hours ahead of time, allowing him to follow at the designated time. Sheppard feels the heaviness of his tac vest; his arms rest on the butt of his P-90. Ten minutes pass, followed by an hour.

Sheppard's eyes dart to any strange sound, whispering in his comm that it isn't working. His watch feels like a betrayal, marking every moment that the ruse hasn't worked. They're dealing with someone too cunning for this, and he wonders if he's signed the death warrants of his two friends.

After twelve hours the operation is called off. It takes Lorne and Teyla to drag him back to Atlantis; he won't meet anyone's eyes.

On day five, the next box is scanned, inspected and sits on top of Carter's desk. It is thick and heavy, wrapped with brown paper. She wants to open it; the last mission had been her call.

Sheppard can't stop the buzzing in his head; every one of his muscles is tied in knots. Teyla can't hide her anxiety, and Lorne's expression is a stoic slate.

The smell that assaults them all is strong, the odor of copper and decay.

"Oh, my God," Carter gasps.

She slaps the box closed, face pale, cheeks tinged green.

"What is it?" Teyla demands.

Sheppard is a live wire; sparks of electricity fire through all his nerves. He opens his mouth, but Carter shakes her head.

Lorne is close enough to her side; he got a peek, and his eyes are wide in horror.

Teyla is impatient, Sheppard is numb...numb and ill.

"We'll get Keller to verify... verify the contents."

Sheppard should feel like throwing up, but he's gone away, deep inside himself.

When Carter has calmed enough, the shock still ice water in her veins, she tells them about the two hearts inside the box. There's another note inside.

_You should have come alone, Colonel Sheppard._

* * *

Rodney and Ronon are led to a mess hall with both their hands bound tightly behind their backs. Balish sits at the head of a table laden with plates of food. Rodney's mouth waters at slices of roasted meats as the smoky aroma fills the air. There are dishes of vegetables in various colors with globs of butter, loaves of bread, and bowls of stew and soup. On the other end are cakes, puddings, cookies and other tasty treats. He resists staring at the feast, ignoring his growling stomach.

Balish grins, wiping at a droplet of sauce on his chin. "Care to eat?"

Rodney's proud of himself and speaks without staring at the obvious temptation. "And what's the cost of this all-you-can-eat buffet?"

Ronon seems as he always does - ready to rip people's throats out, not bothered by the extravagant meal.

"You know the ticket to admission."

"Oh, for Pete's sake. You know what? I'm tired of all this insanity. We're not going to tell you the 'gate address. Taunting us with food might give you some type of pleasure, but it won't give you the information."

He takes a breath, all fires blazing, holding Balish's rapt attention. "In fact, I call bull on this whole thing. I'm not blind or stupid. You have stunners, doors that open by touch. You may be psychotic, but you're not an idiot. What's with all the charades? 'Give me the 'gate address?' Why? You don't need it! If you planned on an invasion, you'd demand more information than a stupid address. If you wanted to ransom us then there are other means to contact our people!"

By the time his tirade is over, Rodney feels flushed from exertion, his breathing rough. Ronon studies him, probably pissed he didn't put this all together before or maybe the big man thinks he's gone postal.

"You're right."

Rodney's face does a double take. "I am?"

Balish stands, his mouth drawn in a straight line, all six feet of muscle flexed in tension. "I never wanted either of you," he growls.

"We weren't the targets," Ronon says.

"No! The real target got away! I wanted to kill one the galaxy's greatest enemies."

Rodney can't believe it; he should have freaking guessed. "Sheppard," he blurts.

Balish's face turns three shades of crimson. "Yes! He brought the Wraith upon our heads! He's responsible for the death of tens of thousands, including most on my home world!"

"The Wraith have always culled worlds."

"At manageable numbers," Balish snarls at Ronon. "But Colonel Sheppard killed the keeper and in his arrogance, unleashed a plague of death upon us all!"

Ronon takes a step forward to defend his CO's honor while Balish stabs a finger in his face. "Of course you defend his genocidal actions; all of Atlantis is guilty. You all came here clueless, reckless with your technology and your superiority."

"We've tried to help," Rodney interrupts.

"Help? By cleaning up the mess you began? No, you will all pay the price and be brought to justice for your crimes. Beginning with Colonel Sheppard. He is the guiltiest of you all."

Rodney doesn't try to reason with a mad man; it wouldn't work. He doesn't defend the colonel's actions or the good the expedition has done. They've all had their personal albatrosses to bear since stepping foot in Pegasus. He's lost count of the number of dead bodies that he's personally responsible for, countless faces on worlds destroyed by the Replicators because of his code modifications.

"So, we're bait?" Rodney blurts.

"Yes, a means to an end. Your butcher, however, has proved elusive."

"Sheppard's too smart to fall for anything you set up," Ronon says proudly.

"On the contrary, he's fallen easily into a few of my snares, slipping through the cracks at the last second. I've had to be more creative in my ways to lead him astray, but my patience wanes."

The hair, the fingernails, all things to rattle Sheppard's cage.

"In fact, he thought he could outwit me this last time. I think it's best to break his resolve; people who are blinded by anger tend to make mistakes."

Balish knows nothing about John Sheppard, doesn't realize what happens when that switch inside him is flipped.

"Ask the Genii about the last time Sheppard got really pissed off," Rodney huffs.

"The Genii think they can lead the way because they might know how to split the atom," Balish eyes him, the calm exterior slipping back in place. "That is child's play, don't you think? My people were on the verge of what you call cold fusion, Doctor."

"I highly doubt that," Rodney mutters under his breath. Such a breakthrough is pure fantasy. "The Wraith would have culled your world ages before you had enough uranium."

"We had our ways to hide from them until they became too desperate for food!" Balish screams. "You have no idea what good we could have brought to other worlds. The breakthroughs we were on the verge of... Now it's gone! Destroyed because of an outsider!"

Balish's whole body quakes with fury, but he smiles, the psychopathic coldness slipping back into place. "No matter. This works out even better. My original plan got rid of Colonel Sheppard. My new one means I can take days to inflict my revenge in person. And I'll be very creative, just wait and see. The both of you will get to witness the whole thing as part of your punishment."

Balish pulls out his knife, enjoying his reflection within the blade. "Hold them."

Four pairs of hands grip each of their shoulders, arms, and any other areas to keep them still. Ronon has knocked his guards to the ground, but they end up sitting on top of him.

"What now? Kill us?" Rodney, snips.

"No, I just need some of your blood. I could have used syringes for the donation, but you've annoyed me tonight. And ruined my fabulous dinner."

* * *

Teyla shadows him down every corridor, silently keeping three steps behind, ghosting his moves right into the armory. She walks into the center of the room, fully aware that it'll make her presence known, but his body language says he's been aware for a while.

"I'm doing this alone," Sheppard announces, not turning around.

"I'm going with you."

He ignores her, pulling out ammo clips, snatching up a few generous chunks of C-4 and stuffing them all into various pockets. Teyla crosses the length of floor, grabs her tac vest, slips it on and arms for a war. Sheppard straps on an ankle holster, slides in a Beretta even though the Glock still rides on his thigh. He fingers a few flash bangs and pats down his vest but it looks like he's run out of places to hold the remaining ordnance.

Teyla blocks emotions and tiny whispers that try to distract her from the goal ahead. If she allows her thoughts to wander those treacherous waters then she'd unravel at the seams. Her eyes linger on the row of lockers, at each person's name neatly stenciled on reusable labels.

Sheppard prepares with the concise, efficient motions of a cold, calculated soldier. His normally vibrant eyes stay hooded, concealing all the fire that burns within them. "I'm serious; you're not coming."

"Yes, I am."

Teyla will not back down; Sheppard doesn't hold the exclusive rights to grief and rage. He shifts to the right to brush past her and she blocks his path. He spins left, and she parries that as well.

"Colonel."

"No."

"John."

"I said no!"

His eyes are obsidian; the vein in his left temple pulsates madly. "What I'm doing—"

"--Is to get revenge. They were myfamily, too."

"There's no turning back. I'm disobeying orders."

Teyla's emotions bubble to the surface. "They do not apply to _me_."

Sheppard is close to shattering into tiny pieces, but she won't let him win this fight. "Grab two pairs of night vision goggles," he says, finally relenting.

Teyla snags some out of the box, tossing a set to him. Sheppard catches them in mid-air, his reflexes stunningly quicker than she's ever seen. She shudders at his bearing - this isn't the same John Sheppard that Teyla has eaten with over the past three years or has joked and sparred with for hours on end.

Ronon and Rodney are gone, and she will not lose John, too-- even though a part of him is already dead.

* * *

"Will they not stop us?"

"Not in time," he replies.

Getting to the jumper bay and stealing one of them is fairly easy. The colonel knows his men, has every one of their steps memorized. They dodge guards, slip past patrols and break in with ease.

Disabling all the security protocols takes only few keystrokes on a laptop. Rodney's expertise is sorely missed, but Sheppard hacks his way through, honoring the man's legacy by making it look like child's play.

"_Jumper two, you are unauthorized for take off!"_

The bay doors open, and, like criminals, they slip out effortlessly, the radio crackling the entire time.

"_Colonel Sheppard, this is Carter. I know what you're feeling. I know how much this is killing you, but this isn't the way. Don't risk your career...don't risk your life--" _

Static fills the air then dies along with the radio after John shuts it off.

Teyla trusts John implicitly, but they'd had nothing for five days, absolutely nothing. "How did you find out where the base was?"

"I bribed some people."

There's no way to keep the anger out of her voice. "Who?"

Sheppard is all dark shadows, smudges under his eyes that blend with the stubble on his face. "The Genii."

"What? We tried them. We asked Ladon...we..."

"Mercs for hire. I got the info from them."

At what price? she wonders. What part of his soul? Teyla won't press; the intel has to be correct. They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't.

They fly over endless landscapes to the coordinates entered into the computer.

"There's nothing here," Teyla says, staring at the screen.

"I'm picking up movement. I bet the base is shielded," Sheppard points out.

Teyla observes the dots on the HUD, commits their patterns to memory, knowing that the colonel is doing the same. They have the cover of night, the moon obscured by clouds, and the advantage of goggles that allow them to see everything in shades of green instead of black.

"There are four patrols of three. We'll target the east wing. There's an entrance three meters from this position." He points to a yellow dot. "We'll use the three-minute window to secure a way inside before any one notices." Sheppard's voice lacks any punch or feeling.

She knows not to touch his arm; he's too disconnected at this point. "Are you sure about this? It might not be too late." The voice of her people speaks, clashing with that of the warrior inside.

"Ronon would want to be avenged. Rodney would want-" He swallows the bitterness. "He'd want it to have meaning."

"His death?"

Sheppard doesn't look at her. "Yeah," he whispers.

"Sometimes the deaths of loved ones are meaningless," she says, all wise and reasonable.

The warrior side mocks her words.

"Then I'm going to find out why."

Teyla watches as the shell of John Sheppard powers down the jumper, gathers a small backpack and re-clips his P-90.

Reason whispers now is the time to stop this. She joined Atlantis to fight the Wraith, to help her people and others in the galaxy. It's her duty towards the greater good.

Ronon and Rodney were her family; their absence is the cold blood that pumps through her heart. Athosians protect their own, and the only way to feel warmth again is to fight. In order to carry on, she has to rid the ice that flows in her veins and purge the guilt and need for vengeance out of her soul.

"You ready?"

Teyla knows that this won't bring them back, but it might save her and John's souls.

"Yes, I am."

* * *

Ronon's arm aches; a deep gash runs from bicep to tricep. Balish had drawn the blood with glee and wrapped both their wounds afterwards in mock care.

It gnaws and twists his guts to be used this way. A tool to lure Sheppard to his death. He should kill Balish before anything else happens. There's no way that his safety will be used against his team leader.

"We've got to stop him."

"Yes, you've said that already. If you come up with a brilliant plan, let me know."

Ronon is sick of feeling like this, wasted and useless. "McKay!"

"Do you think I want to dangle like bait on a hook? I have no desire to watch Sheppard be tortured in front of me. Been there, done that, have the nightmares to prove it."

Being angry at McKay is wrong; the man has been brave and is reacting the only way he knows how. Balish has not made any mistakes, but he's no match for Sheppard's crazy plans. People always fall for that casual façade until it's too late.

"Sheppard probably has a strike team ready to go. If our resident psycho has been pulling the colonel's chain then I'm sure Sheppard has three units of Marines ready to storm this place," Rodney boasts.

Rescues...Ronon hates being rescued. He's supposed to be the one to protect his team, watch all their backs. Not lead anyone into danger. If he can get into Balish's personal space, he'll bite the man's jugular before the guards kill him. He measures angles in his head, how the best to taunt the _drenk_ before a voice reminds him of his other responsibility.

McKay.

The physicist's safety falls to him; getting killed and leaving his friend to fend against the guards is unacceptable. If there is still a chance to get them both out of here alive, he'll find a way. It is his duty to help Sheppard in any way he can and that includes being ready for one of the man's _distractions._

Ronon listens for explosions or the clatter of feet but the hours add up without a sign of freedom.

"You know, if Sheppard has to depend on Zelenka to track us down; we could be in trouble. There's no telling how many 'gates we went through. I mean, we couldn't even track down the colonel when Koyla nabbed him. I just--"

"--Shut up, McKay."

"I'm sorry if this isn't what you want to hear. I'm just stating facts and the odds are not very favorable that Sheppard will find us."

Ronon pins his teammate with a glare. "Since when has Sheppard ever worried about odds?"

* * *

The fence protecting the base towers three times higher above them. The scale isn't intimidating, but it could be motion sensitive. Sheppard scans for cameras or other types of surveillance equipment as the seconds count down until the patrol comes by.

The colonel signals for her to wait, hustling back towards the woods to return with a branch. He tests the metal webbing, verifying that it's not electrified. The two of them tackle the mesh, scaling it in seconds and rappelling to the other side.

Tick, tick, tick.

There are no lights outside to attract attention to the compound; the back part of the building is built into the mountain behind it. They jog silently towards the target, the darkness concealing their movements. The colonel's head is in constant motion, scanning for hidden dangers.

Teyla hears a faint sound in the distance, feels a disturbance in the air. She holds up her hand, and Sheppard crouches down, both their eyes to the sky. Sheppard points at their two-o'clock, and an object floats overhead. Its outline and dimensions are a bulge in the green backdrop of their vision.

Airborne surveillance.

There's nowhere to take cover.

Its trajectory will cross their path in thirty seconds or less. Sheppard points in a direction to avoid being caught, and they're forced to run.

The sprint is harsh and unforgiving, racing away from the camera's sweep. The sphere is stealthy, silent but for a slight hum. Teyla's heart pounds against her ribs. In their haste she and Sheppard almost hit into the wall of the base. There's no way to control the noisy rasp of their lungs sucking in much needed oxygen. Even while panting from exertion, each of them scans for the enemy.

These are not the coordinates they were heading towards. There's no telling where the security patrols are now that the timing is messed up. Sheppard slams his back against the wall next to a corner, expecting company at any moment.

Teyla pulls out a knife as the colonel grabs a stunner from his backpack. They wait at the sounds of approaching footsteps.

Three green blobs appear and the streaks of the stunner seen through the goggles are yellow and bright white. It's like one of Rodney and Sheppard's video games. She helps bind hands and feet with zip ties while Sheppard looks around warily. There's no place to hide the bodies before the next patrol finds them. The plan had been to avoid an encounter like this.

"There's got to be a door," he whispers.

"We could drag them inside," she whispers back.

These men will be missed; it's just a matter of time. They search for an entrance only to find solid walls of stone. The three minute window is over with, and the next detail should be here any second.

The next team is not as sociable and is in proper formation. Sheppard stuns the first guy, the weapon's fire alerting his buddies. The colonel misses his next shot and gives chase before reinforcements can be alerted.

Teyla rips off her goggles, whips around the corner in time to see the colonel stun a second solider. She flings one of her knives at a man who takes aim at John, the blade catching the other soldier in the chest. They can't risk alarms, and she has to kill without firing her P-90.

It's too late. The entire compound is awash in bright light; the air above them buzzes with another camera drone.

"So much for slipping in quietly," the colonel growls. "Let's find an entrance."

There's only brick and stone as far as the eye can see.

"Where the hell is there a door!"

Teyla searches harder, fingers scrabbling for hidden niches. How do they get in?

The brick in front of her explodes; she ducks and spins, firing at the direction of the shot. Three men spread out, blue streaks missing all around her. The colonel's P-90 explodes in the quiet of the night, defending against another group from the opposite side.

They're being out-flanked.

She's exposed, out in the open, but there's nothing to be done about it. She rolls to avoid another volley, coming up with her finger on the trigger and dropping one of her foes. The other two converge on her position, shooting as they run.

There are sounds of other bodies slumping to the ground around her. She throws herself to the left, landing with an 'oomph' as the bullets of her rifle slice a guard in half.

She lashes out with her boot, connecting with a kneecap and chopping another enemy to the ground. She digs a knee into the man's belly, knocking a gun out of his hands with one hand and slamming a fist into his jaw with the other.

She breaks the enemy's nose with a crack of her elbow, taking him out. At the sound of movement behind her, she grips the P-90 that dangles from her vest and aims at the rushing shadow.

Sheppard freezes before firing past her shoulder at targets behind her. His hands move upwards, squeezing the trigger. He adjusts a fraction before unloading once again, only to re-position to take out another target.

"Let's go!" he hollers.

Teyla scrambles to her feet as Sheppard backs away. He'd taken out the reinforcements, and as they run around the corner, she counts the other bodies on the ground along the way. She braces her shoulder on the edge of the building to use as a shield. The bright spotlight illuminates the area, painting bulls-eyes on both of them.

The colonel shoots at it, sending them back into darkness. "We've gotta find a way inside!"

He waits like a predator for the other patrol, even if the element of surprise has been blown. The front of the colonel's uniform is stained red. She forgets about the not touching part and reaches for his shirt.

Sheppard jerks away. "It's not mine, just splatter from close range."

There's no emotion in his voice regarding a person's life's blood all over him. The camera zooms in over them, and he shoots it out of the sky.

"Colonel!" she whispers harshly.

One of the wounded soldiers is trying to crawl away. Without a word Sheppard stalks after him, grabbing the guard by the shirt collar. "How do we get inside?"

"Not telling you," the man sneers.

Sheppard presses his Glock under the guy's chin. "Yes, you will."

"Kill me. I don't care."

"Fine." The colonel holsters his handgun. "I know you guys enjoy games."

Teyla feels her skin grow cold when he grabs the guard's left pinky and snaps it without hesitation.

"John," she warns.

Their enemy's face grows paler but his green eyes are as defiant as her team leader's. "Screw you."

She says nothing as Sheppard pulls out the knife; her eyes are alert for the enemy, her heart skipping a beat.

"Which finger do you want to lose?"

Something inside screams at her to stop this, but her mind replays the moment that box was opened up in

Carter's office.

"No! You wouldn't!"

Sheppard slices open the man's palm; red wetness wells up from the cut. "I'll start with the middle finger," the colonel explains, the blade dipping in between the webbing of skin.

"You have to have a key card! All the doors are cloaked! You don't know where they are!"

"Show us," Sheppard orders.

Teyla and Sheppard stand in front of a section of wall that they'd passed earlier; the guard waves his identification at something invisible and reveals the hidden entry point.

"You're dead," the soldier laughs. "You're outnumbered and everyone will be waiting for you. Balish will make you pay for your crimes."

"Balish? That's your leader? Is he the one who killed my men?" the colonel demands.

The soldier spits on his shirt, and the colonel smashes his Glock into the guard's face. "We have a few tricks up our sleeves." He looks at Teyla with an expression calmer than it should be. "Ready? We'll do things like we planned."

There is no way of knowing what's waiting for them. Teyla thinks of Rodney's smile and Ronon's devilish eyes and the way John used to act before all of this.

"Let's do it," she says.

* * *

Rodney wonders about all the great civilizations that have been wiped out by the Wraith or Replicators. Which ones might have cured all disease or found an infinite source of energy. How many are dead and gone because of the Pandora's box they'd opened up?

Maybe he should be more concerned about the number of crazy lunatics out there who want them to pay for all their sins.

The doors open once again and Balish strolls in. "I thought you might miss my daily visits."

"You never needed the 'gate address, did you?" Rodney snarls.

"No. It would have saved time to communicate directly, though it gave me a chance to see what the two of you were made of," Balish replies.

"You're a coward. Using us to get at Sheppard," Ronon digs.

"I must use the tools at my disposal," the madman explains. "And you two have provided all that's been needed."

"I think you might be surprised," Rodney barbs.

"But, my dear Doctor, there will be no valiant rescue attempt. No squads of Marines to save the day."

Rodney risks a frantic glance; they must not show any fear.

"Please, my friends. You must have suspected I'd be listening in. Once again you fail to understand your role here."

"That-that won't matter," Rodney stutters.

"I've used both of you, played you like well-tuned instruments. Attacked your colonel's biggest weakness. See, he thinks you're both dead." Balish is all manic smiles.

"Sheppard wouldn't believe that!" Ronon thrums with uncapped rage.

"Yeah, he's right. Sheppard isn't some mindless grunt," McKay huffs.

"I'm counting on that sharp mind of his, of course. I used your blood cells to grow something quite ingenious in the lab. Suffice it to say, I've provided dramatic evidence of your deaths, unless he thinks you're capable of going on without your hearts."

Ronon doesn't understand, and Rodney's face flushes as it dawns on him that this place might have the ability to clone organs from their cells. "That's--"

"Impossible? No, Doctor. This is my lab. I told you what my people could have done for medicine."

Oh, God, Rodney thinks. Sheppard might really believe that they're dead.

"In a few minutes I'll send Colonel Sheppard a message. I'm sure he'll respond to my invitation to meet me alone this time. He'll be too blinded by rage and despair. Easily manipulated into a final trap."

Ronon's hard-fought control is wavering. "Sounds like your people underestimated the Wraith if they were anything like you. Your people were cowards. Hiding instead of helping to fight," Ronon pushes.

"We were wise enough to know we weren't ready! Sheppard's actions meant the Wraith grew desperate enough to explore every planet more thoroughly!" Balish yells.

"Your great, powerful people, toppled by the action of one man." Ronon grins wolfishly. "How pathetic."

Rodney tenses for another beat down from Ronon's taunts when an alarm shrills.

Balish turns around, slamming a hand down on a control. "What's going on?"

"_We're being attacked, sir! We are tracking the intruders."_

Ronon listens intently; Rodney mouths 'rescue' to him.

"How large is the force?" Balish demands.

"_Two, sir."_

"You let_ two_ breech our defenses?"

_They are very efficient. They took out all our outside security."_

"Hunt them down! Alive if possible. Use whatever measures to stop them!" Balish growls. He turns around, anger marring his features. "Don't get too excited. Once I'm done with Sheppard, Atlantis will be the next to fall," he vows before leaving.

Ronon yanks at his legs, testing the strength of the bonds. He turns to Rodney. "Be ready."

"Two people? Sheppard and...and Teyla! Are they insane?" Rodney hisses.

"Wouldn't you be? If it had been reversed?" Ronon asks, imagining the all-consuming rage.

Rodney swallows and begins banging on his bonds. "They have no clue we're alive. Let's give them an incentive not to go all kamikaze."

* * *

Teyla inserts the first earplug. "How long will they last?"

"Sixty seconds, incapacitating anyone within a fifty-foot radius," he replies.

The colonel puts on his hearing protection and pulls out the first of many sonic grenades, courtesy of a recently discovered Ancient lab. Teyla opens the door; he tosses the first one, and after a beat, they plunge inside.

Shooting people without the sounds of dying makes things worse. Faces screw up more intensely with pain; the blood is brighter when it spills. The confusion and chaos gives them an edge. Soldiers on their knees covering their ears make for easy targets.

They clear corridor after corridor in the exact same manner. The colonel throws a sonic grenade, pauses, and then they each divide a hallway. Teyla sees Ronon in the way Sheppard stalks down halls, poised for the next kill shot. His green eyes no longer sparkle, only shine with inky darkness. He's the walking wounded, dying a little more with every pull of the trigger.

They bust in a set of double doors, causing people in white coats to flee in the other direction. The room ends up being a lab filled with weapons. Bomb-making materials are stacked on shelves with enough supplies to arm an invasion.

Teyla pulls out her left ear plug, and Sheppard does the same. "These are preparations for war, Colonel."

"Not anymore," he says, grabbing C-4 and a detonator.

A noise from behind a large cabinet sends them scrambling to cover it. The colonel drags out a cowering man by the collar, shoving the barrel of his P-90 into the scientist's chest. "Are there more labs like these here?" he demands.

"Yes."

"How many?"

The scientist wraps shaky fingers around the gun to ease the pressure, but Sheppard shoves it harder.

"How. Many?"

"Four more. Two on the west and east wings."

Sheppard's eyes get that far away look.

"I know you'll kill me. But Balish will make you pay for your crimes, and he'll use what we created here to destroy your home as you did ours."

Bitter words impact like bullets, and Sheppard's face twitches. The entryway they had burst through earlier explodes with more soldiers. The colonel jerks the scientist by the collar and hauls him out the exit.

Teyla has his six with suppression fire as they escape. The security forces rush the lab just as they disappear out the back.

"Run!" the colonel orders, pressing the detonator.

The concussive force of the explosion throws them to the ground, the heat and flames lashing at their backs. Teyla's forearms and elbows take the brunt of the impact, and she scrambles to wobbly feet at the same time as Sheppard. The scientist lays slumped against the opposite wall, his chest still rising and falling.

"We'd better hurry," the colonel says, checking his weapon.

Teyla grabs his elbow. "We should split up."

"No."

"Colonel, we have a better chance of blowing up the other labs that way."

"No, we're staying together."

This is the locker room all over again. They'd both come here for vengeance; now they had a chance at redemption. She thinks again about the greater good. Rodney and Ronon's deaths could mean something.

"John." He always stills when she uses this tone. "We must do whatever it takes to protect Atlantis."

For the first time in days, a familiar fire burns in the colonel's eyes. He swallows, licking his lips. "You're right."

The colonel hands her some C-4 and one of the last sonic grenades; his fingers linger on her wrist for the briefest moment.

His lips say, "Be careful." but his eyes beg, 'Stay alive.'

"I will," she says before heading towards her targets.

* * *

Sheppard thinks maybe he is already dead and it's his ghost roaming the halls. Crouching around corners, dodging return fire has become habitual, instinct. There's no feeling of payback after each soldier crumples to the ground. In fact, he doesn't recall feeling anything at all.

"_We must do whatever it takes to protect Atlantis."_

His heart pounds harder, each beat hurting a little more. It felt okay to be numb, uncaring. Now there's more at stake, making everything rawer. He marches down the next corridor into a hornet's nest of security. He ducks and rolls away, weapon's fire peppering the space he'd just left.

Five soldiers swarm after him, and the sounds of boots approach in the other direction. Sheppard flattens almost spread-eagled against the wall, tossing his last sonic grenade. It's like an action movie cliché. He fires his P-90 in one direction and his Glock in the other. His right hand vibrates as he expends ninety-rounds a second; his left fights the recoil of a single bullet at a time.

The air reeks of gun oil and singed hair. There's no time to check his head to see if it's all there. Blue bolts of energy bounce around him in random directions; aiming has to be tough when your ears feel like they're bleeding. He has another thirty seconds and goes all Bruce Willis on the bad guys.

Anyone who isn't seriously wounded or unconscious, he slams the butt end of his rifle to their skulls. He can't afford to be gentle and wait to be shot in the back. His left side stings like a bitch, and hepeers down to see the edge of his vest is burned. Someone had winged him, and he'd never noticed.

He finds the next lab; it's more like an assembly line for making mass amounts of guns. It doesn't take long to plant the charge. He keeps waiting on Rodney to crack a joke about his obsession with things that go boom. He'll never admit how many times he's looked to his side to throw a smirk at Ronon who'll never have his back anymore.

Sheppard exits the room, fingers curled around the trigger when he freezes in his tracks.

"Colonel Sheppard."

The voice is haughty, wrapped in layers of control. A man holds a gun to Teyla's temple with another arm secured around her throat.

Sheppard aims for the guy's forehead. "Let her go!"

"Don't waste time, Colonel. Drop your weapon."

"I'm sorry, John."

Teyla begs forgiveness, but there's nothing to forgive. Sheppard shakes his head. "I'm not doing anything until I know she's safe."

He's lost most of his team; he won't lose her next.

"Stand-offs are pointless," the man says.

"Are you Balish?" Just saying the name causes things to sizzle under his skin.

"I am," Balish says, smiling. "I'll make things easier. I don't care about this woman, only you."

Three burly guards come from out of nowhere and stand at attention. "I'll have one of my men escort this woman to the brig. Then you and I will finally have our day."

"Colonel, don't!"

Sheppard shakes his head. "It's my call, Teyla." He looks at the one responsible for all of this. "I'm lowering my weapon. She better be out of harm's way by the time it reaches the floor."

His P-90 hits the ground at the same time Teyla is handed over to a thug.

"Kick the gun this way, Colonel."

The guard moves further way, edging towards a door with his hostage, and Sheppard sends his gun flying across the floor.

"Remove your vest, too."

Teyla doesn't have a gun pointed at her head anymore, and the other two guards approach with rod-weapons. He wishes she would just make a run for it; that mutt is no match for her. He unfastens his tac vest, throwing it to the ground. Teyla and the guard slip from view and disappear behind a door.

"Bring him."

Three against one. Sheppard thinks it's the best odds he'll get.

His Glock is empty so it's up to timing and luck. Both guards lunge for his arms, and he sends his shoulder into the right guy's chin. His left fist strikes sideways in a clumsy swing, jabbing the other guy in the jaw.

One of the guards hits him with a stunning weapon, and a bolt of white-hot electricity shoots through his hip. He's sent sprawling to the floor, howling in pain. Sheppard grabs the nine-mil at his ankle and fires. The first bullet hits one of the goons square in the chest.

His left leg doesn't work, and all he can do is aim from his right knee, unloading half a clip into the other soldier. He doesn't see Balish until the man sends one of the fallen rod things into his right shoulder.

Sheppard drops his weapon as fire and acid cascade into the muscle. He falls to his hands and knees, dizzy and sick to his stomach.

Balish goes one further, pressing the rod into the center of his wrist.

"Sonuvabitch!" He tries not to throw up as his limb is seized by a current of pain.

"Get up, or I'll force you to swallow it."

Sheppard peers with blurry eyes. "Screw you."

Balish looks like every other crazed lunatic. Standard uniform, drab colors and a smirk that needs to be wiped off his face. "I can't believe you are the one your friends waited for all this time."

Sheppard squeezes his eyes closed.

"They begged like animals. The smart one cried, you know. The big guy, he growled mostly, but even he screamed after a while."

"_The DNA matches," Keller says, with red, blotchy eyes. "The... the hearts... they—they... belong to..."_

Rage. Pure and bright.

Sheppard launches with all his might at the bastard. Balish lands on his back, his weapon knocked from his hands. Sheppard pins Balish's legs with his knees and wails with all his might with his left fist.

"_Do you always have to take the last slice of cake?"_

"_Why would you watch a movie about a speeding bus?'_

Sheppard pummels the face below, over and over again. He's mumbling, ranting and raving as bones pound into flesh. Blood spurts from Balish's broken nose, red rivulets drip from the corners of the man's lips.

Nothing matters; time stops while grief overwhelms him.

"Stop!" a voice screams.

Moisture drips down Sheppard's face. Salt stings his eyes.

"Stop it, Colonel!"

Gone. Everything's gone.

"John!"

Hands pry him away from the bloody mess and he clings to Teyla's side with one hand, burying his face into her shoulder.

"Shhh. Shhh. Oh, John. It's alright."

A hand rubs up and down his spine and wraps around his neck.

Nothing is okay. It's all shattered into a million pieces.

"We must get up. Can you stand?"

He can't even talk. Teyla wraps his dead arm around her shoulders and pulls him to his feet.

"_We must do whatever it takes to protect Atlantis."_

"You're safe," he breathes.

Her face is glowing with urgent need. "John...I can't believe it...follow me."

"What?"

His right leg still works; his left one is filled with pinpricks and numbly drags behind. Teyla guides him towards a door, her cheeks rosy, her eyes...they're alive, so alive.

Sheppard freezes in the entrance, hand grabbing the door jamb, his breath caught in his throat.

Teyla is beautiful, sparkling before him. "I just needed keys to their chains," she beams. "I got them from one of the guards. The one who brought me here did not have them."

Sheppard doesn't see anything but the smug, excited expressions of his friends.

"Took you long enough! I'm starving," Rodney complains.

"You get them all?" Ronon asks.

"Yeah. Yeah we did," Sheppard says, a smile growing very slowly.

Teyla returns it. "Are you okay? I need to--"

"Go!" Sheppard says, waving her away, goofy grin now on his face.

Teyla enters the cell, and he notices the guard unconscious on the floor. His body hurts, aches with loss and pain, but he can feel it..._feel _it course through nerves long thought dead.

Sheppard hangs on to the door frame for dear life, relishing the sights and sounds before him.

"You don't deserve this," Balish's voice whispers from behind.

There is no time to respond before something sharp is thrust into his back.

Then Sheppard falls to the ground, but it's okay. Because you have to be alive in order to experience death.

* * *

Rodney fluctuates between sheer terror and moments of euphoria. Teyla's sudden appearance causes both. One second she's a prisoner like him and Ronon, the next the guard is flat on his face.

"Oh, thank goodness," he sighs loudly.

Teyla's expression is pure joy and horrified shock. "Thank the Ancestors," she breathes. "You're alive."

He wants to say, of course, forgetting that Atlantis thinks they're dead. There are unshed tears in Teyla's eyes, and Rodney's throat tightens. She's inside their cell, yanking on the chains that still hold them captive. "I don't have a key."

"Where's Sheppard?" Ronon asks, still straining against his bonds.

Teyla pats down the soldier she'd taken down. "He is alone with the one who did this. I must go help him."

It is hard to resist being selfish after five days in Hell, but Rodney doesn't shout to hurry up. Teyla will come back with Sheppard, and the four of them will walk out of here.

"They really found us," he says excitedly to Ronon.

"We're not out yet."

Rodney doesn't have the energy to argue because Teyla returns with Sheppard who clearly can't stand on his own two feet. The expression on Sheppard's face, though, breaks something inside Rodney. The colonel is shell-shocked, forcing him to crack a joke about being hungry.

Sheppard waves Teyla away with the dumbest expression Rodney's ever seen on the colonel's face. The pilot is a million-watt Christmas tree of happiness.

Teyla frees Ronon's chains and begins to unlock Rodney's. He's so giddy about getting out that the Satedan's howl of rage scares the crap out of him. By the time Rodney is able to stand, he runs with Teyla towards the doors.

Balish's face is bright purple with Ronon's hands wrapped around his throat. Rodney ignores the final gasps for air, satisfied that the person responsible for this nightmare is being dealt with.

Sheppard lays sprawled on his stomach, the back of his T-shirt glistening wet. Teyla pulls out a dressing, lifting up the tee to press at the hole there.

Ronon towers over Balish's body, chest heaving, hands still curled into fists.

"Rod'ey," Sheppard rasps, smiling at him with eyes of peaceful green.

"Don't you dare!" Rodney growls. "We didn't die, and you're not allowed to either."

They get Sheppard supported between them. Teyla's hand tries to stem the flow of the red pouring out of the pilot's back.

There is carnage down every hallway, the result of emotions that have been bottled up for too long. Sheppard's head lolls on Rodney's shoulder, his body boneless between them. Ronon charges down the complex, seething about revenge.

"There's been enough death," Teyla whispers. "We should focus on the blessings of today."

Rodney can feel Sheppard's life slowly fading away, can hear the hitching breaths at his neck. "I see nothing to be thankful for!" he shouts in panic.

"You are wrong. John and I...we were lost." She risks looking at him. "When we found you...we found the parts of us that were missing. Do you understand?"

Rodney remembers the look on Sheppard's face inside the cell. As if everything was right in the world. "Maybe," he tells her.

* * *

Teyla finds herself watching things more, taking in every moment in lasting detail. She observes Rodney's expressive hands, the flurry of emotions with every gesture. At the gym she soaks in Ronon's raw power that often shadows the grace in his movements.

Today she wades into the warm waters of the swimming pool and makes her way to the shallow part. She stands at Sheppard's right side and his physical therapist takes up his left.

"Today, Colonel, we're going to float from one end to the other."

She knows how much he's always trusted her, but this...this is John Sheppard at his most vulnerable. They don't speak much during these exercises; there's no need to.

After he's done she supports his weight as he climbs the steps, the jagged scar on his back a reminder of what they are willing to do for family.

After he's changed he tells her, "The doc says I won't need the chair in a week,"

"That's good to hear," she says, pushing it.

They arrive at the mess hall; it's the same time every day for lunch. Ronon has trays waiting for them both and a spot cleared away for Sheppard. Rodney's meal is almost gone and he sits staring at his hand. "You know, I think Keller is a liar. She gave me some polish to help increase the protein in my nails, and they're still just nubs. It's disgusting."

"You're painting your nails?" Sheppard asks, grinning. "What color?"

"I don't know; maybe I should ask the stylist that keeps you supplied with hair gel that question."

Sheppard quirks an eyebrow, and Rodney just glares. Ronon chuckles. "Maybe try purple. Might be a good shade on you."

Rodney nearly spits out his coffee.

Teyla relaxes in her chair, enjoying the sparkle in Sheppard's eyes and the smile that lights up his face. He's no longer stiff or robotic, and when he laughs, it fills her with warmth.

"They inspected the compound again. All the earlier raids worked," Ronon says.

Rodney rubs absently at his arm. "Good. One less evil overlord to worry about."

And one less complication in the colonel's recovery. Discovering such a base swept disobeying an order under the rug, so to speak.

There are no guarantees in life, she knows. There's no telling how many more Balishes are out there, plotting evil deeds. Or that the next time, the knife won't miss the colonel's spinal cord. Maybe someday, one of them won't make it back through the 'gate.

"I think someone's falling asleep," Ronon's voice rumbles.

The colonel dozes peacefully, his head resting against the back of the chair. The three of them stand as one, each going for one of the wheelchair handles.

"Guys...don't need an escort," Sheppard says, waking up.

Rodney pulls the wheelchair back, steering it around. "I have to go towards the lab anyways."

"Headin' to the gym," Ronon shrugs, standing on the other side.

Sheppard catches her staring and sweeps his gaze at the team as if to say, _it's all better now._

"I will join you," Teyla says.

There are no arguments or squabbles about the four of them strolling down the hall just because they can. Because what once was lost has finally been found.

--

* * *


End file.
